Dead Boys Cry
by dropDead-Dreamer
Summary: Five boys, five stories, five paths, but one entwining fate. Featuring, Unsui in Breathing Blue, Hiruma in Burning Bullet, Shin in Silence, Agon in Dragon's Dead, and Sena in Something Silver. Shounen ai
1. Breathing Blue

**This should be interesting. **

**Disclaimers: I don't own Eyeshield 21. Nor do I own a falcon. Sad face. **

_July 15__th - maybe. _

_For as long as I can remember the world has been sad. _

_ Sad. It's a diminutive word that never gets the same credit as hate or pain. However, it's just as bad. Maybe even worse. Maybe even a whole lot worse. _

_ That small little word could destroy a family; engulf them in a hell without any of them being any the wiser. It slipped under the thick oak door, through the cracks of the colored windowpane. It filled the house not with fire but with cold, murky blue slime until the family was bathing with it, washing the dishes with it, and running it with the laundry. _

_ And maybe, just maybe, I would sometimes let myself think, the family would survive. Yes, they would wake every morning with their sheets cold and damp, brush their teeth with bitter and sour sadness, and blindly stumble through their day – but they would survive. They would be able to manage, and maybe someday in the far future, the sadness would get evaporated and finally leave. But, more likely, the family would be able to live with the sadness without suffering. _

_ The only problem for the family – for his family, was that the sadness was very, very flammable. And I assumed that some people, they were born with fire in their soul. That fire varied from person to person, for one the fire could be a flickering candle, on another it could belong in a comfy fireplace. And every one and awhile that fire inserted into the soul could be an inferno._

_Unsui Pigmalio Kongo _

Story One: Breathing Blue

It was a good night.

They were practically a scarcity in the Kongo home.

Unsui sat in the middle of the table, his mom to the left, his father to the right. They were making small talk, Dad telling a small story about something at work. Mom was listening intently and for a moment Unsui could've sworn he seen a sparkle in her eyes, as she listened she leaned on the table and cupped her face in her hands, feeding on his every word.

Unsui drank the scene in; to see them so peaceful, with life in their eyes, and actual conversations on their lips, not _Did the milk go bad? _Or, _we need more rice. _And Dad, he wasn't hunched over an essay, his eyes hidden behind a pair of thick glasses inside the study, a bottle tightly enclosed in a feeble fist. No, his eyes were sharp and clear, focused almost.

Unsui brought the fork to his lips and chewed down on the shrimp. Mom was a great cook, she really was. But usually the sadness was so thick inside her, that she couldn't even manage to get out of bed. She would lay there the whole day, with the blinds down softly muttering to herself in Spanish and swallow pills. Pills, with tall glasses of the dark blue sadness.

However, when Unsui got home that afternoon, home from basketball practice, he walked past the kitchen and could hear pots being banged around. Curious and slightly dreadful of what he'd find –

Unsui peered into the room. He sighed with relief when it was just his mother, his beautiful mother with her crazy hair wearing a clean outfit.

He could tell instantly that it was a good day for her, she had her curly Puerto Rican hair tied back in a bright red band and was wearing her fitting expensive clothes. There were bangles on her wrist and large earrings with large green stones in them.

Unsui couldn't help but to grin, it always made him grin, when the sadness took a backseat. She sensed his presence and for a moment, she looked startled, and her eyes widened. Then she smiled back, a wide brilliant smile. "Oh, _M'hijo_, I didn't see you there," she said straightening up as she found the elusive pot.

The rest of the truth remained unspoken, the part where she had thought, _I didn't see you there_ M'hijo_, but when I did, I thought you were your brother! _

Unsui shoved the thought to the back of his mind. He didn't need it, didn't need the sadness attached along with it either. "Sorry Madre," Unsui said and her smile widened. Mom liked it a lot when he called her Madre, as if he could just slip into Spanish, as if he was even able to hold a single conversation in Spanish.

Calling her Madre only worked when she was at peace, when she was wearing her jewelry and her bright, clean clothes. Only then did Mom transform into Madre.

"What are you making?" Unsui asked when she turned back to the stove. "One of your favorites _M'hijo, _criollo!" There was so much warmth in her voice – Unsui was almost positive that all the blueness in the kitchen had instantly evaporated, momentarily.

Criollo – shrimp stew.

Unsui didn't bother to mention that his real favorite food was gyoza and that he hadn't eaten criollo since the last time she made it – which must've been when he was seven.

It didn't matter thought – she could put a frozen try in the oven and it would taste like heaven for Unsui. As long as she still kept that laugh, that warmth, everything would be fine.

Feeling as if he needed a reason to stay in the kitchen, Unsui asked, "Do you want me to help Madre?" She shook her head, her dark corkscrew hair bungle jumping down her back.

"Oh, no need, you go clean yourself up, you're stinking the whole kitchen up _M'hijo_!" She laughed at her own small joke, which was one of the things Unsui loved most about her, when she was being Madre, she was carefree, she made dinners, and she washed her hair so instead of a frizzy mess it was layers upon layers of black tiny springs.

"Okay, okay," Unsui said and he turned out of the kitchen casually before bolting down the hall. He kicked his shoes into his room and his clothes practically burned as he threw them off. He was in and out of the shower before it had time to warm up, his hair was shampooed and body washed.

And then he was out, into the room, throwing on anything that didn't smell dead. He was back in the kitchen with water still running down the side of his face.

But she was still there. Still at the stove, adding bay leafs to the pot.

They had a small conversation on how Unsui was doing at school, (I'm so proud of you _M'hijo _you have an A in Biology, that was my worst subject!) How he was doing with the girls, (with a face like yours _M'hijo _it's only a matter of time until you'll be out on dates all the time!) and anything concerning dinner.

"Use the good crystal and china, oh and get out some candles. Tonight is a candle night," Mom said, so Unsui opened the dusty cabinet.

Inside the dining room, he put the plates down. For anyone going from the living room to the kitchen, the dining room was a pit stop to drop off any unwanted items.

He cleaned all the crap of the wooden dining room table and sprayed it with Pledge. He scrubbed every scratch and every black mark, until he could see his own dark eyes.

He set out the fancy table mats and switched the dead flowers in the center of the table with some yellow roses from the garden outside. And he set the candles, the plates, and the polished silverware on the table.

When Dad got home, he usually hustled into his study, an ungraded essay already in hand, and his glasses in his shirt pocket. But, he could smell the Puerto Rican the second he walked through the door and smiled.

It was as if his walls had crumbled – they weren't gone, but worn and tired. And that was a good thing, because it didn't involve a glass of bourbon and complete isolation. "Madre?" He said when he caught Unsui, who had scrambled through the living and sitting room to the front door.

"Yep, Madre," Unsui said and Dad rubbed his eyes. They were dark eyes they were a dark eyed family.

It's said that the eyes are the windows of the soul; if that's the case then the Kongos' souls had been painted over, perhaps to hide the sadness that weighed on everything. Maybe to keep away something nasty that the rest of the world didn't want.

"And…your brother?" Dad had to ask, quickly of course, while bending down to take his shoes off. Almost as if he was speaking straight to the floor instead of Unsui. "He hadn't been here since yesterday morning," Dad nodded, not in agreement but to simply admit that he had registered the statement.

A part of Unsui knew that was wrong. Dad shouldn't just nod away Agon's continuous disappearances. But then again, Mom shouldn't decide to be Madre for a day then go slither off her expensive clothes back into her dirty pajama pants and stained shirt . With a headache. That would last another week or so.

But, the blue sadness, it did screwy stuff to people, and there was so much of it in the Kongo household, it was amazing that things weren't a whole lot worse.

This is what Unsui repeated to himself at his parents made small-talk at the dinner table, their expressions reflecting off the wood. In the candlelight, their faces smoothed out, making them less tired.

Unsui wasn't all that much of a talker, but was able to put enough impute into the conversation so he was still part of it.

But then things got a whole lot worse.

The front door slammed.

Madre was in the middle of explaining a mildly interesting story about when they were in Paris when Unsui was seven. She actually bit down on her tongue as the sound echoed around their minds. Half of Unsui couldn't believe the expressions on his parents' faces.

Guilt, being caught in the act.

However the other half was trying to manage with a racing heart and sweaty palms. _Oh please, don't notice me,_ it whimpered and Unsui didn't feel guilty or embarrassed because it was the truth.

_Don't, don't notice me. _

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?" In the kitchen, soup crashed to the ground, the metal pot shattering in his mind. But metal pots don't shatter. The thought was stuck in his mind, and Unsui had to force himself off the subject.

And then, faster than he could've registered, Agon was there. He was big, already filling out the doorframe.

Unsui was tall – but Agon, he was something else, something else entirely.

"So was anyone going to fucking invite me to this shit fest?" Agon growled and Unsui glanced at the cornered of his eyes at his parents. Mom had her hands clasped together in her lap. She didn't need to take off her expensive clothes to leave Madre. Her expression was worn, so meek, so frail, and so very tired that her face seemed to hang on its skin.

There was no way that Agon wouldn't notice Unsui, he was sitting facing the kitchen and it was only a matter of seconds before the hell started.

They locked eyes and Unsui's stomach twisted.

"Agon," he tried, he really tried. Tried to put on a brave face, tried to make the situation breathe away. If only – if only Agon could realize that he owned the house. He was always invited, to each and any meal. All he had to do was sit down, grab a plate, and the universe could explode elsewhere.

But, Agon, his soul was created with a blazing inferno and the blue sadness was just TNT waiting for that match.

So the fire raged.

"You shut fuck up you shit face suckass," Agon growled and his eyes descended upon their real victim. "Hey, Mom, did you forget something?" Agon snapped approaching her chair. She didn't seem to notice, her eyes were already descending down dark tunnels through her mind.

"Remember me bitch? I'm from your vagina, part of the package deal, rings any bells?" Agon hissed launching himself into a chair. The back of the chair was facing Mom so he sat down with each leg between the chair, and wrapped his arms around the frame.

Mom made a small noise, like a mouse being stepped on, and Agon grinned. _Just go away Mom, just go away. _She wasn't quite there, wasn't quite in that place where Madre lives.

"Hey Mom, still there? I'm trying to make a fucking conversation here," Agon snarled snapping his fingers, which in the quiet room managed to sound like firecrackers. But Mom didn't jump, didn't whimper, she had finally finished her ride through the tunnel, and was in her world. "This looks like shit," Agon said, but even he sounded bored.

He knew when Mom left, same as Unsui, who bowed his head.

"This looks like shit," he said picking up her plate. Anger flashed in his eyes and he dumped the rest of the contains directly into Mom's thick bungle-jumped, springing hair.

She didn't even fidget. Not as the now lukewarm soup started to run down her face. It left red streaks and dripped softly onto the table and down her fine silk shirt.

"Pretty fitting for you," Agon sneered before, with another twitch of anger, threw the dish against a wall. It shattered from the force and broken china littered the floor. Finished, Agon stomped out of the room, grinding the china into the carpet as he walked over it in his thick boots.

However, he couldn't help but to glance at Dad one last time and spit out one last bitter word, "trash."

Dad, Unsui had forgotten about Dad. But he was frozen, neck stiff from masquerading as a statue. Slowly, Unsui realized that they were all frozen, not able to move until the last trace of smoke vanished.

In the story above us, Unsui heard Agon's door slam shut.

He was surprised, just how much he was dreading to face Dad.

Stoic. That's the first word that burst into his mind. Dad just didn't care. But then, as he started to unfreeze, more was revealed. A flicker of pain, or maybe panic.

Unsui realized that Dad was starting to realize the same thing, because his eyes, they were starting to yearn for something. Sake, probably.

Just something to keep those emotions lethargic.

And Mom, she was standing up, back to her old self again. Not her old, old self. But the mom with headaches and pills. "Call a housemaid," she said softly to Dad before leaving the room.

Dad left the second she did, ducking out the opposite door, into the kitchen, and then down into the wine cellar. And his office. Some days it was hard to tell the difference.

Unsui sat there, stunned, not sure what it was that _he _should be feeling.

He was just numb. That's all that was there. Numbness.

For a moment he contemplated checking in on Agon, just to make sure his brother wasn't bashing his head through a wall. But he couldn't. Unsui was a coward – he didn't want to be that wall.

So the 14 year old did the only thing he could, he finished eating dinner.


	2. Burning Bullet

Story Two: Burning Bullet

_Today – _

_Fuck it. _

When Hiruma was seven, he slept in the bathtub.

Not all the time, just when the night was at its coldest and Mama was long gone, leaving the bed glacial and empty. He would gather as many blankets and towels that he could find and then slip into the yellow stained tub listening to the sound of the neighbors above him scream and the pipes groaning around him.

Until, at last, his eyes would slowly shut the darkness and sounds away.

When he woke up and stumbled out of the bathroom and found Mama curled into a tight ball on the bed, fully clothed, with no warmth it left him worried.

Mama liked to sleep, not all the time, but when she did, it usually took awhile for her to wake up again. During that time, it would be Hiruma's job to protect the apartment. He would kill the cockroaches, light the candles, and keep Mama warm. That was always important.

He instantly dragged all the blankets and towels from the tub and stacked them on top of Mama. She didn't seem to realize it and when Hiruma put his hand against her face, it was chilled. Despite the fact he had just woken up, Hiruma snuggled in next to her after lighting a few candles.

Softly he started whispering to her, reporting what the neighbors had been arguing about the night before, until he ran out of words. After that with nothing else to talk about, he would count if only to pass the time, or maybe recite his ABCs. He wasn't sure where he learned to do either, but it seemed natural and Hiruma was a child of instinct.

When Mama finally stirred from her slumber, three days had passed. Hiruma, who was curled like a small bug, attached to her side stopped counting at 10,323 and sat up with a start. His stomach had that caved in feeling, as if there was a thick lead rock pressing into his stomach leaving him lightheaded and nauseated.

"Mama, I'm hungry," he moaned gently shaking her arm. He had to be careful with Mama; she was always so fragile and easily bruised. Sometimes Hiruma felt that if he gripped her too tight, she would shatter into a million pieces. And he would be all alone.

But, he was still, very, very hungry and had eaten the last of the rice yesterday morning. And since the stove wouldn't turn on, and he needed the last matches for lighting candles, he had soaked the rice in cold water then breathed on it for a while.

That had been egos ago though and now, all that Hiruma wanted was something that would make the lead in his stomach leave. "Mama, please," he whined and she stirred again her eyelids fluttering. Hiruma had both hands around her arm now and a moment Mama looked scared, but then her eyes adjusted and she groaned loudly.

It was a hoarse, scratchy, beautiful sound that made Hiruma want to jump on the bed with joy. Almost. The lead in his stomach was making him all windy and lightheaded. Jumping wouldn't end well.

"What the fuck?" Mama grumbled, her mint green eyes the original of Hiruma's own. He couldn't help to smile and after a slightly reproachful glance from Mama, released his hold on her arm. "I'm hungry Mama," he repeated as she sluggishly sat up scratching the side of her head, making her blonde hair stand up.

"Well fucking Christ, if that's all, go make a fucking bowl of cereal you little shit," she grumbled running a hand through her tangled mass of yellow hair. She rubbed the corners of her eyes, smearing the days old makeup across her face.

Hiruma unaffected by her words simply whined again, "it's all gone." He drew his legs up into his chest to trap in his dismissive body heat. Mama stood up, wavering slightly, before slinking uneasily into the kitchen. The cabinets were already open, from Hiruma's frantic raiding and the fridge just as empty, excluding a small corner of bright green mold.

"So you weren't shitting me," Mama said her voice still thick. "Fine, give a fucking second and we'll go get some pancakes or something." She said and Hiruma wrinkled his nose. "I don't like pancakes," he grumbled and she snored.

"How the fuck does a kid not like pancakes?" She demanded throwing the bathroom door open and sitting down on the toilet.

Their apartment was small, two rooms, including the bathroom, where Hiruma sometimes slept in the tub. When someone stepped into the apartment, they would instantly see the bathroom door, about seven feet away. To the right of the bathroom door sat the large queen mattress covered in blankets, clothes, and Mama's shoes. The only window was on this wall, but for as long as Hiruma remembered it had been nailed over with several thick pieces of cardboard.

To the left of the door was the kitchen, the floor littered with empty food boxes, beer bottles, and old Chinese food cartons, along with a few traps meant to kill cockroaches. The refrigerator was a dull yellow color and the cabinets a pealing shade of blue.

Tacked to the wall opposite of the bed were multiple pictures torn from magazines, comics, and books. A few of the pictures were from when Mama was in a movie, _Burning Bullets;_ a poorly produced film that only premiered in five theaters before going straight to VCR. Mama had played a bratty foreign exchange student who died from decapitation.

However, it was still her favorite role. While Hiruma himself had never seen the movie, Mama had whispered it to him in the dead of night so many times, that he could imagine everything himself. However, in his mind, Mama was the star of the movie, instead of a minor character.

After she was done using the toilet, Mama quickly jumped into the shower. Hiruma decided to jam another pair of socks on his feet and put a weathered jacket over his moth-eaten sweater.

He pressed his hands against the side of his face to try and force his pounding headache from ratting around his skull. It felt as if something was in there, slamming against the wall like the angry neighbors would do for no reason.

After Mama's shower she changed into her Mama clothes; sweatpants and a tattered long sleeve black and white shirt under a tighter black shirt. She added her worn coat and scrambled over to the left side of the bed where she had last left her purse.

"So brat," she said as she locked the apartment door. Hiruma started at her unblinking as she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and lit one. "What the hell have you been up to?" Hiruma shrugged, too focused on not falling down the stairs to repeat his stories about the angry neighbors.

"Fine, let's go get some fucking food in you. You're always in a better fucking mood once you eat," she explained, so they traveled the rest of the way in silence. Outside the apartment, Hiruma had to resist the urge to instantly grab for Mama's hand. He liked their apartment not the rest of the world so much. The building loomed over them, huge crumpling brick sculptures that were destined to fall. Everything was too big, the other people on the streets, the cars, the buildings – and there was nothing to filter the noisiness. That's what the apartment did, it filtered everything. That way the neighbors could be as angry as they wanted, but Hiruma wouldn't ever have to worry about anything.

That wasn't true for the outside world. There was too much space. Not enough filters.

It took them awhile to walk to the food place and by then Hiruma couldn't tell if the throbbing in his head was from the headache or the lead rattling in his stomach.

"So let me take a fucking guess – you want an ice cream Sunday or some shit?" Mama said and the table next to them, a man glanced up. Hiruma hardly noticed, his mouth was dry and he felt like he was going to puke.

"I don't like ice cream," he said and drowned the first glass of water their waitress gave to them. It didn't taste like the water at home and despite himself Hiruma couldn't help but to like it better. After all, it was _clear _and had _ice. _Mama snorted flipping open the menu. "What kinda kid doesn't like ice cream?" She asked and Hiruma shrugged again.

He ended up ordering chicken nuggets while Mama got the pancakes. They sat in silence until the waiter left then Hiruma watched as Mama sneaked the salt from the table behind them into her purse. He couldn't help but to smile.

It would be nice, to eat stuff with salt. And this time, he wouldn't use it too quickly. Hiruma's eyes caught on another pair. It belonged to another kid, younger than him at the table next to them.

Hiruma threw the kid the same disproving glare his mom used, but the kid's dark brown eyes remained locked onto Hiruma.

He wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out and the kid blinked confused and offered a small smile. Hiruma stuck his tongue out and the kid blushed before giving Hiruma a small wave. He saluted back. He wasn't sure what it meant, but saw it once and it looked important.

To his amusement the other boy, after a slightly confused moment, repeated the gesture. It was only when his chicken arrived that Hiruma broke eye sight with the kid. At first he was able to control his eating, taking one bite of a chicken nugget before putting it down and drinking more water. But halfway through, he started to eat faster and before he knew it, Hiruma was licking the left over crumbs off the plate around him.

And yet his stomach still wasn't happy.

Hiruma glanced over to see what the over boy was eating. Pancakes. Of course. Sensing that Hiruma was looking at him the boy instantly turned his head back and smiled again. He glanced at Hiruma's plate, before looking over at the guy he was sitting with. His face was totally stuck inside a newspaper.

With a quick motion Hiruma almost missed, the boy slipped off his table and slipped two pieces of bacon on Hiruma's plate. He savored the first before chewing on the second. He gave the boy an approving nod which he beamed at.

Hiruma momentarily pondered if most kids his age were that weird.

"Mama, what's a bill?" Hiruma asked and his mom glanced up, half her mouth full of pancakes. She sighed and gave Hiruma one of her dirty looks. After a few minutes of chewing, she finally said, "fuck kid, you just have yak at all the wrong times. Now what the hell are you asking this time?" She inquired and Hiruma repeated his question. "Bills are for the shit you need to pay. Why you asking about bills?" Mama demanded and Hiruma shrugged.

"That's what the angry neighbors were talking about it yesterday. The lady said 'you drink too much and can't pay the bills' then he said 'the reason we have bills is because you can't stop snorting snow' then they made a bunch of loud noises," Hiruma demonstrated to the best of his ability the noises.

For a moment Mama simply chewed on her food, not listening, but then she cleared her throat and said, "you've gotta keep your ass out of other people's crap kid. The last thing you need is to get yourself covered in someone else's shit."

Hiruma nodded with wide eyes but part of him disagreed. "Anyway, I think we might be moving soon," Mama said causally and Hiruma gave her a surprised look. "Huh?" She smirked and leaned forwards, the excitement in her eyes akin to when she told the plot of _Burning Bullets_. Hiruma leaned forwards too, curious.

"I said, we're gonna move out of that shitty apartment. I was thinking maybe we could go live in the country or some shit. Wild open spaces or whatever. And I'm gonna get you in a school. It's not healthy for a boy your age to sit around all day doing jack shit," Mama said and Hiruma frowned. He didn't like the sound of wide open spaces very much.

But Mama was obviously excited, her eyes animated with a strange emotion that sat on the edge of happiness. Hiruma had only a vague comprehending of what school was, but maybe if the brown eyed boy next to him went, it wouldn't be so bad.

He glanced back over to the kid, who was ripping his pancake in half, when the door to the restaurant burst open. For a slight moment, that didn't mean anything. But then Mama causally glanced over and stiffened,

An angry shout flew across the diner and silenced the several habituated tables.

"Well if it isn't a fucking whore," Hiruma instantly bristled up and jerked his head to where the voice was coming from. A tall, blonde American man was leaning against the door, his shoulders loose in a fashion that Hiruma instantly recognized to mean drunkenness.

However, his eyes were sharp and concentrated on Mama, much to Hiruma's displeasure. A waiter started to head towards the man who Hiruma didn't like, but he brushed the man away and stalked straight to Mama's table.

She sat frozen like a window manikin and hardly reached when he reached over and whipped her plate off the table. It crashed onto the ground, a mixture of sugary cake and shattered china.

"You think you're so fucking smart you dumb shank," the man said but Mama didn't react. "The funny thing is, if it weren't for me being so fucking observant the boss wouldn't know anything. He's got so much money in those pockets; he'd never realize you were actually making a little extra on the side."

The man spoke softly and other than the waiter who was picking up the shattered plate remains, he wasn't drawing attention to himself anymore. "However, there's a reason you're the boss's favorite, isn't there?" He said with fake gentleness that made Hiruma's stomach churn. He shouldn't have eaten so much, so fast.

Suddenly the man reached out for Mama and Hiruma couldn't _not _to something. "Leave her alone!" He wanted to say. However, what came out was choked. Without a moment's warning the man had backhanded Hiruma across the face.

His nose stung and his eyes watered. Hiruma couldn't help himself; he had been thrown into shock. "Damn, I know you're a whole, but that doesn't mean you should let your fucking kid starve slut," the man said causally, apparently noticing Hiruma for the first time.

Still, his mom remained a statue.

"But – fuck it. You're catching my drift here, right Angel? Meet me in the back alley. You've got two minutes," he said and Mama stood up slowly. Her eyes were glued on Hiruma however they held no emotion. Hiruma stared back up at her with wide scared eyes wanting so jump up and save Mama but too scared to move from his spot.

Three hours later the manager called the police.

Hiruma didn't know much about the police, only that when the neighbors got really, really angry, the police would come and after a little more yelling, there would be silence. The boy with brown hair was sitting with Hiruma now, his dad's newspaper away.

When a tall, stiff man wearing a blue outfit strutted up to the table, the boy's dad jumped up and ushered him away from Hiruma. Didn't matter. Hiruma's ears were sharper than most, Mama told him so. She'd probably tell them too once she got back.

"My son and I were sitting at the table across sir, I'm pretty sure I heard everything," the man said and Hiruma glowered at him. He heard more than the man did.

"Are you okay?" The brown-eyed kid whispered, drawing Hiruma's attention back to the table. Hiruma tried to give him a raised eyebrow, but his face stung horribly. "You've got an ouch," the boy announced and Hiruma reasoned that he liked him better when he was slipping food to Hiruma.

Another police person – this one a lady, approached the two. "Hi guys, I'm Mika," she said and Hiruma frowned. She had a smile that didn't reach her eyes and she hardly looked at the boy next to Hiruma. "I need to ask you a few questions huh, about where you mom's gone," she said and Hiruma drifted his eyes up towards the ceiling, it had a bunch of small bubbles in it.

He didn't want to talk to this lady, he wanted to go back to the apartment, hang another picture on the wall, and listen to one of Mama's stories. The woman didn't seem to notice that Hiruma was angry and asked lightly, "sweetie, what's your name?"

Hiruma didn't want to tell her his name. Mama hardly used his name either so there wasn't much need of it. And maybe if he ignored her long enough, she'd leave so Mama could come back.

"My name's Sena Kobayakawa," the boy next to him recited and offered Hiruma a slight nudge and a small smile. Hiruma didn't have to listen to the boy, but for some reason he was terrified that if he as didn't also respond, Sena might leave with the others.

"I'm Hiruma," he muttered and for a moment he saw confusion in the lady's eyes. But it quick and so was her response. "Hiruma what darling?" She asked and Hiruma shook his head, staring at the crumbs on the table. The table itself was wooden with pealing red paint. It was the only one with red paint; all the others were green or purple. He didn't like purple.

His stomach felt heavy, like it full of oils and they were pressing to get out of him. "Not what. Yoichi Hiruma," he told the table. Mama only called him that when she was certain that he had done something truly horrid, like when he used to pee the bed or something like that.

The officer's expression was one of utter disbelief, "You're Yoichi Hiruma? Um, okay, what's your mom's name then?" she asked and Hiruma tried to raise an eyebrow again. His face still stung.

"Mama," he muttered even though he was pretty sure that wasn't what the lady was asking. He didn't want to answer any more questions. "I want to go home," he wined and she shook her head, apparently struck with disbelief.

Across the room, Sena's dad bowed to the officer then headed back their direction. "Come on Sena-kun, it's time we get home," he said but Sena didn't budge. He frowned and bit his bottom lip though. "But what about Yoichi-san?" He asked, and even though Hiruma didn't remember holding hands with Sena, he tightened his grip anyway.

The man glanced at Hiruma for a moment before his expression softened. "If he doesn't have a place to stay tonight, we could probably make room," he said to the lady, even though that wasn't quite what Hiruma wanted. "He can have my bed," Sena piped in. But the lady's face was drawn tight and she shook her head robotically.

"That is out of the question, even more so in this case," she said.

00000000000000000000

Two months later, Hiruma lived in a palace.

He wasn't quite sure how he ended up there, only that after leaving the table, he was ushered to what he assumed was where the police lived and from there, the palace. He never got to go back home.

When he got to the palace five things happened swiftly. First his five layers of clothes were torn off him, never to be seen again. Second, he was violently washed; his hair scrubbed with shampoo and conditioner and all his nails cut short, and his dark hair was chopped shorter. It used to reach down his back in long black tangles but they cut it higher than his ears. Fourth, he was thrown into new clothes that seemed too baggy in some areas and too stiff everywhere else. Then, finally, he was taken for his first car ride to a huge group of people who wanted to take pictures of him next to a tall man.

But then, it was over.

Hiruma sat closed off in a room and cried. He didn't cry often, because it wasted so much energy and he was always hungry afterwards but his eyes refused to stop. He wanted Mama, so bad it hurt more than his face, which had a dark bruise forming over one eye.

When he finally stopped, he felt so lifeless and lightheaded that his stomach was past the point of wanting food. It groaned and moaned occasionally, but it had slunk farther into him that in due time, Hiruma was positive that it would simply vanish.


End file.
